


Best Treats

by sapphocles (freckles42)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Sex, Clubbing, F/M, Incest, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 22:51:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1566935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckles42/pseuds/sapphocles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron follows a mysterious note to a Muggle club and it leads to much more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Treats

**Author's Note:**

  * For [violetfishy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=violetfishy).



> Written for the 2006 Smutty_Claus exchange.

He didn’t want to be here, amidst all the sweating, pulsing bodies. He didn’t really mind that the entire room oozed with sex – after all, why else did people come to these blasted clubs if not to work some kind of strange, subconscious desire to copulate? But it was the pawing he couldn’t stand. He was standing near the corner, drink in hand, not making any eye contact, just gazing around the dance floor, and _still_ girls in dresses with less fabric than proper bathers were approaching him. He supposed it was the red hair or something. He didn’t have eyes for any of them, though. He was waiting.

The note on his counter had been unsigned, but he followed the directions without question. He had forced himself (cursing and grunting and working up a sweat) into some ridiculous dragon leather trousers that Fred and George had bought him as a joke. If only they knew how much use he got out of them. This, along with a simple oxford shirt, unbuttoned enough to let a few of his curling red chest hairs peek out of the top, was all meticulously requested in a tidy script on the piece of parchment.

So here he was, in a ridiculous Muggle club, wearing ridiculous clothes, and generally feeling like an arse as he turned yet _another_ tittering Muggle twit down. He’d know his date when he saw her.

And he did.

A flash of red on the dance floor was all it took and he was pushing his way through the crowd, eyes on the prize. He didn’t blink for fear that he would lose her again.

There she was, brazenly sandwiched between two shirtless blondes, hands on one’s chest while the other held her hips and ground against her. Her eyes flashed as she spotted him and she _smirked_ , hand running down the one bloke’s chest to his navel, following a trail of sweat.

His eyes narrowed with jealousy and he hated her for making him play this game. But tonight was her night, and he was playing by her rules. He began to dance to the music, admittedly awkwardly at first, but settling into a rhythm as the song shifted and he found the beat. He danced his way between her and the blonde she’d been facing (which he had mentally tagged as Blonde #1, since it was shorter than “Bloke Who Will Soon Be Dead If He Doesn’t Get His Paws Off Her #1”). She smirked and teasingly ran her hands over his chest as she’d been doing with the blonde. He felt gooseflesh rise on his skin despite the stiflingly hot temperature. His hands went to her waist and she raised an eyebrow but let them stay. Blonde #2 grunted but turned away, following his twin to find some other bird who was less taken. There were plenty of others.

She stepped closer to him, legs between his, and her skirt rode up as she ground against his leather pants. The hand on his chest found its way to one of his nipples, teasing the small nub to hardness. He pulled her close a bit roughly, lips tracing the shell of her ear.

“Don’t fucking tease me,” he said, nearly having to shout to be heard over the music. He felt her shiver in his arms as one hand went to her arse and squeezed, forcing her crotch against his, making her feel how hard he was in these blastedly tight trousers He moaned as her tongue licked its way along his jawbone. 

“Who says I’m teasing?” she murmured, rocking against his erection.

With that, he decided he wasn’t going to wait.

“You’ll pay for that,” he growled lustfully, hands going under her thighs and picking her up, holding her tight against him, her small frame easy enough for his to carry. Legs going around his waist, she ground her hips down against his again and oh _gods_ she wasn’t wearing knickers. He could feel her wetness even through his trousers. She continued smirking knowingly at him as he carried her off the floor and into a dark corner, pushing her roughly up against the wall, one of the hands under her thigh tracing up the inside of her leg. He could feel her sweat and juices on his fingers. When he found her slit – no knickers, definitely no knickers – he pushed two fingers into her with little preamble.

“Oh, Merlin,” she whimpered, letting her back go flush against the wall as her muscles contracted around his digits. One hand stayed over his shoulder but the other went to the flies of his trousers, undoing them with remarkable and clearly practised dexterity. She wrapped her hand around his already leaking cock as she pulled him out, stroking him beneath her cleverly hung skirt. Her thumb swirled over the tip, eliciting a growling gasp from him before he bit down on her neck. He hooked the fingers as he kept pumping them in and out of her. She moaned involuntarily and squeezed the tip of his cock, letting her hand slide off it quickly.

“Good gods, Ron, fuck me already,” she groaned, chest heaving and hips grinding against his hand. The alcohol he’d had made him even braver than he normally was as he removed his fingers and kissed her, hips rocking up against hers. Her hand guided him into her and he moaned loudly as her warmth surrounded his cock. He began to thrust against her, continuing to pin her against the wall in the dark corner of the club.

It had been like this the first time they had fucked. He had seen her from behind and not recognised her at first. He’d started dancing with her, murmuring naughty things in her ear, and when she’d turned around he’d been shocked at the familiar brown eyes and freckled complexion – almost enough to lose his erection. But then she had raised that eyebrow the way she always did and he was even more aroused. There had been firewhiskey on her breath when she kissed him, but the way she had begged her to eat her out in one of the cubicles in the girl’s loo had been utterly irresistible. He’d taken her there, licking and sucking her folds like she was one of his previous girlfriends and _not_ his baby sister. The way she had moaned as his tongue had explored her depths had been incredibly erotic and he’d found himself wanting more. She hadn’t protested when he’d held her hands together over her head and fucked her right there in the stall, biting her nipples through her dress, fabric up around her waist. She had urged him on, moaning and being loud enough to bring an attendant pounding on the door. They had just kept fucking in time to the beating of the employee’s fist on the false wood, her fingernails digging half-moons into his hand as he restrained her, sweating and grunting. The muscles of her arms had lifted her pert breasts up even higher, nipples straining through the wet fabric on the front of her dress. He had fucked her long and hard before she came, crying out his name in a way that still made his cock stir in memory.

As she started to whine and breathe shallowly, he slowed down the thrusting of his hips and kissed her swollen lips. She gripped the hair on the back of his head and pulled him back from her mouth.

“Ron,” she hissed, pupils dilated widely, “if you don’t _start_ fucking me again, I _will_ have your bollocks for breakfast.” Her grip tightened. “I was _this_ close to coming.”

“Such language,” he chastised, getting a wicked glint in his eyes. “What would Mum say if she heard you?”

She clenched her muscles around him almost angrily, eliciting a groan from him.

“Mum would say to finish what you’ve started, arse,” she said, trying to grind her hips against his, desperately seeking a finish. He hoisted her up a little, drawing her clit away from any sort of satisfaction.

“Ah-ah,” he said, clucking his tongue in a manner that was disturbingly reminiscent of their mother. “Not until you promise to be a good girl.”

She gasped and frowned in consternation.

“No more of your little notes,” he said, thrusting into her once, hard, then stopping. She bit her lip and nodded.

“No more making me wait two hours for your admittedly cute arse to show up.” Another thrust, another gasp, and another nod.

“And no fucking _dancing_ with matching Swedish twins.” Again, and again, and again.

“They were Danish,” she managed to point out, groaning.

“Ginny,” he said warningly, hands tightening on her arse.

“Fine,” she said, trying to bring some sort of level-headedness back to her mind. “Now will you _please_ finish fucking me? I think people are starting to notice.”

He glanced over his shoulder. There didn’t seem to be anyone looking their way, but she had finally agreed. No more teasing him, and no more making him jealous.

“You got it, sis,” he said, quickly resuming the pace they’d had moments before. She moaned and groaned as she felt the intense warm back and stronger than ever. Even in the dark he could tell her skin was flushed, and judging by the sweat on her upper lip she was very close. He kissed her, hands running along the underside of her thighs. He moaned as he felt her suddenly clench around him, body tightening as he held her, continuing to thrust against her. She breathed hot air across his air as she shuddered and came. His hands dug into her legs as he pushed for a finish, finally going over the edge.

“Oh gods,” she panted as he pulled out of her and let her legs down. Her skirt fell modestly to her knees and he quickly tucked himself back into his trousers, though he couldn’t do up the buttons all the way. He pulled his shirt out and let it hang over him and hoped that the darkness would help to disguise the fact that if he moved the wrong way he would be flashing anyone who cared to take a look. She smoothed her dress down and gave him an even look, a hint of a smile dancing about her lips.

“Why don’t you take me home, Big Red?” she asked, cool as could be, as though she hadn’t been in the throes of sexual ecstasy two minutes prior.

He offered her a smirk reminiscent of her own, offering her his arm.

“Sure thing, Ginger-head,” he said. “And then I’ll fuck you properly.”

“I thought that _was_ a proper fuck,” she said, taking his arm and leaning against him gently. “You deserve a happy birthday.”

“It was. Best ever,” he agreed, kissing the top of her head as he guided her towards the exit, past the mass of bodies. “But now, it’s my turn to give you a treat. That would make me _really_ happy.”


End file.
